


Statistical Improbability

by calathea



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calathea/pseuds/calathea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie vanishes. Don looks for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Statistical Improbability

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by reginagiraffe

Don snatched up the phone when it rang, his eyes still on the report in front of him.

"Eppes." The bullpen was hectic as always, with at least three major investigations running simultaneously, as well as preparations for what promised to be the fraud trial of the century underway. Even with the volume set to high on his phone, he could barely hear his father's greeting. "What? Dad, I can't hear you, hang on a second."

He covered the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand and glared at two agents standing near him. "You two. Shut up or go somewhere else." They glared back, but moved away.

"Okay, yeah, Dad, what's up?" Don asked. He started shuffling some papers, looking for a pen to sign off the report one of his agents had dropped on his desk.

"I can hear you're busy," his dad started, "I just wondered, have you talked to Charlie?"

"Charlie?" Don flipped open another couple of files, dropped them on the floor. "Sure, a couple of days ago. He came in about something he wanted to show me, but I was on my way out of the office and I couldn't stop to talk to him."

"Oh." His father sounded disappointed.

"Why? Is he pissed at me about something? 'Cause really, Dad, he should know by now that sometimes I don't have time to talk to him about whatever mathematical thing he's thought of." Terry came over and made urgent looking hand signals to him that he interpreted as 'we need you'. Don nodded, and waved her off. "Dad, I have to go, what is this about?"

"It's probably nothing. It's just he doesn't seem to have been around the last couple of days."

Don rolled his eyes. "He's probably with Larry. Or some girl."

"I checked with Larry." His father's voice was still concerned. "And he usually calls if he's not going to come home."

Terry returned to tap her foot impatiently at him, and Don stood up. "He probably just forgot, Dad. You know Charlie." Terry was looking increasingly agitated, widening her eyes at him. "I'm sorry, I really have to go. I'll call you tonight."

"Okay, but..."

He had to cut his father off. "Bye, Dad, I'll call you later."

Terry grabbed his arm and started to hustle him towards the meeting room. "What was that about?"

"Dad wanting to know if I had seen Charlie. What's up?"

"Charlie? Is there a problem?"

"No, I don't think so. Did you get a break on the Williams case?"

"We turned up an old boyfriend from his fancy private high school, a Richard Dennison, who says that Williams had a drug habit as a teenager." Terry quirked her eyebrows at him meaningfully. "A drug habit would explain some of the more erratic behaviours he's been displaying."

"And Dennison himself?"

Terry shook her head. "Hasn't seen him in years. I believe him."

"Boyfriend, though?" She nodded sharply. "Yeah, that changes things." They walked into the meeting room together, and Don held his hands up for attention.

"Okay, people," he called above the noise in the room, "Based on what we know now, let's extend the search. Canvass bars in the West Hollywood area, particularly any locations with connections to the drug trade. Flash Williams' picture, ask about any known associates. We need to find this guy." Agents began to mill around, dividing up the new search area between them, grabbing reproductions of the suspect's photo.

"David," Don turned to the other agent expectantly, "Tell me what we have on the explosion."

* * * * * * *

Don dropped onto his bed at two in the morning and lay facedown, aching and cold, on top of the covers. He was too tired to move but too sore to stay where he was. He needed a shower to get rid of the grime of the last crime scene, and to soothe his battered body after grappling with a perp six inches taller and twenty pounds heaver than he was. He needed food. He needed sleep so desperately that both cleanliness and nutrition would have to wait. Sighing, he gathered up his strength, and dragged himself upright again.

Stripping down to boxers and shorts, he headed into his kitchen for a drink. As he passed his phone, he hit the button for messages.

_"You have five messages."_

The machine beeped. "Hi Don, it's your dad. Call me back please." Don opened the fridge door and hung over the edge, looking into the almost empty space.

_Beep_

"Don? It's your father. Please call me at home."

Don stared blankly into the depths of the refrigerator, as if by standing looking at it, he could magically make something edible appear. Or at least find a beer.

_Beep_

The answering machine just made static noises.

Don swung the fridge door shut and grabbed a packet of chips out of the cupboard.

_Beep_

"Don. Call home. Now!" His father's voice was commanding. Don rolled his eyes, and stuffed a handful of chips in his mouth.

_Beep_

More static noises. Shrugging, one eye on the time, Don put down the bag of chips, and walked tiredly into his bedroom. He yanked back the covers, and lay down, sighing heavily as the mattress springs creaked and shifted below him.

In the living room, the answering machine whirred on.

_Beep_

Don slept.

* * * * * * *

The killer was watching him, his eyes dead and staring, while in the corner, the victim lay, covered in blood, still twitching. "Too late," the killer shouted. "Too late, Don."

The gun jerked in his hand. _Bang. Bang. Bang_. He felt the recoil kick through his shoulder, and the man fell to the floor.

"Don!" The banging continued. "Donny! I know you're in there."

Don opened his eyes and blinked confusedly at the ceiling. "Don!" _Bang. Bang. _

"Dad?" Don staggered out of bed, heading towards the door of his apartment. He flipped open all the locks and opened the door. His father stood outside.

"Were you ever planning to call me?" Alan walked into the room, half-shoving his way past Don.

"Uh, good morning to you too." Don shut the door and rubbed his hands over his scalp. "I didn't get in until two o'clock. I didn't think you'd want me to call so late."

His father turned to face Don. "I was still awake." His face was haggard; his eyes dark and shadowed. "You should have called."

"What's wrong? Here, come sit down, you look exhausted," Don caught at his father's arm, steered him towards the sofa. He sat down opposite his father on the coffee table.

"Charlie." Alan passed his hand over his face, "He's missing. He's been missing for days."

Don reached out to touch his father's arm. "Dad…"

He was shaken off. "You're about to tell me he's not missing, that he's just forgotten to call me, or he's with a woman." Alan's expression was fierce and bitter. "You need to stop assuming Charlie is just like you, Don. He forgets things sometimes, and he loses track of time, but never, _never_ has he gone away for three days without telling me, or phoning me to let me know where he is."

Don sat back, taken aback by his father's vehemence. "Dad!"

"No, Don. I know that when you were Charlie's age you didn't check in every day, or even every week, if you didn't feel like it, and you were perfectly fine. But Charlie _does_. And I haven't heard from him for three days." Alan paused, rubbed over his face again. Don saw, with shock, that his father's hands were shaking. "He went into school on Monday and he never came back. Larry hasn't seen him. Amita hasn't seen him. No-one has seen him, Don, and it's _Thursday_."

With that, Alan levered himself up from the couch, and headed towards the door. "Where are you going?" Don asked, standing up too.

"Home. In case Charlie calls." Alan turned at the door and pointed a finger at his eldest son. "Go find your brother. Now."

He turned and left, and the door slammed behind him.

* * * * * * *

An hour later, Don was parking at Cal Sci, cursing his brother under his breath. As he got out of the car, he opened his cellphone and hit speed –dial.

"FBI. Terry Lake."

"Terry, it's Don." Don skirted around some students and came to a stop at the bike rack Charlie usually used. "Listen, my dad has a bug up his ass about Charlie. I'm going to be in late this morning."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I don't know. Dad thinks Charlie is missing." Don didn't keep the exasperation out of his voice. "Can you find out if he's been in to the Bureau since Monday morning?"

"He's been missing since Monday?" Terry's voice was filled with concern. "That doesn't sound like Charlie."

Don kicked at a loose pebble on the path. "Well, he's probably just somewhere doing equations. He's done this before, Terry, my dad has just conveniently forgotten all the other times we've all been going crazy looking for him, and he's turned up in some library."

There was a long pause on the end of the line. "I'll ask around, see if anyone has seen him."

"Thanks, Terry. See you later." Don said, and flipped the phone closed. There were several bikes chained to the bike rack, but Don didn't know if any of them were Charlie's.

Don set off towards Charlie's office, flipping open his phone again as he walked and hitting another button. The phone rang and rang, until finally an automated voice came on the line to say he was being passed to voice mail. "Charlie, it's Don. Where the hell are you? Dad is worried about you. You had better not be locked in a museum again. Call me."

He snapped the phone shut again and opened the door to Charlie's office. It was strewn haphazardly with paper. Books lay open on the floor, their pages ruffled and in some cases bent. Blackboards filled with Charlie's chicken scratch handwriting hung askew on the walls. A huge red mark decorated the carpet by the desk.

It looked, in fact, like a large, destructive hurricane had passed through, just like every other time Don had come by to see his brother at the university. There were no overt signs of a struggle, other than the constant intellectual battles Charlie waged. The thin layer of chalk dust that coated everything in Charlie's wake was undisturbed, the red ink on the floor an old stain from marking pens.

Don wandered around the room, looking at the notes on Charlie's desk, pulling Charlie's day planner out from under a pile of books and flipping through the entries for the week.

"Charles? Is that you?" Larry rounded the corner into Charlie's office as he spoke. "Oh. Don."

"Hi, Larry." Don smiled briefly at the rumpled academic.

"I saw movement in here. I came to see if Charles had come back." Larry seemed profoundly disappointed. "You haven't seen him, I take it."

Don shook his head. "My dad asked me to come see if I could find him. I just got here."

Larry sighed and leaned against the door. "I must admit, Don, I am concerned for Charles. This is most unlike him. He missed two meetings with me to discuss my work, and a thesis advisory session with Amita. Not to mention his classes."

Don raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't that happen fairly regularly? I always hear you complaining that Charles is never on time for your meetings."

"Late, yes. Absent, rarely, and never without reason. He sometimes gets caught up in something and doesn't recall our plans until it is far too late." Larry half-smiled, and moved to look some of Charlie's work on one of the boards. "But then, who among us doesn't. I once left him standing outside my house for an hour after I went in to get a book and got sidetracked."

"And he just waited there?" Don asked, amused.

Larry seemed lost in contemplation of Charlie's blackboards. "What? Oh, he sat down on my porch and thought about a problem he was working on. He only came in when he ran out of paper."

Don came over to look over Larry's shoulder at the blackboard. "Is there something unusual about Charlie's work here?"

"No." Larry sounded thoughtful. "I'm not sure I agree with his methodology here," a finger jabbed at a point on the blackboard, "but if he's right, this has enormous potential." He stopped and stared at the board, and Don rolled his eyes and returned to the desk to try to decipher Charlie's cryptic notes on his calendar.

The sound of a throat clearing made both men look up. "Excuse me." A young dark-haired man in a University security uniform stood at the door. He addressed Larry. "Are you Professor Eppes?"

Don moved around the desk. "No, Professor Eppes isn't here at the moment. I'm his brother, Special Agent Don Eppes, FBI. Is there a problem?"

The security guard stiffened at Don's title. "No, sir. I just came to return Professor Eppes' bag." He held out a black bag. "We've had it in Lost and Found since Tuesday morning. I e-mailed the Professor to tell him to come get it, but he hasn't been by. His phone keeps ringing, so I thought I had better bring it by."

"His phone?" asked Don, his stomach sinking.

"Yes, sir," said the guard, letting Don take the bag from his hand. "Cellphone, I mean."

"And you've had the bag since Tuesday?" Don asked, dropping it on to Charlie's worktable and opening it.

"Yes. A student heard the phone ringing from behind some bushes over by the bike rack, and brought it along to us. We e-mailed the Professor right away to let him know we had it, but he never got back to us." The security guard looked anxious as Don's face darkened with a scowl.

Larry broke into the discussion. "I'm sure he'll be grateful you brought it by. Thank you, Officer…?"

"Watts. John Watts." The security guard nodded briefly at Larry, and backed out of the room.

Larry turned back in to the room to find Don staring blankly down at his hands. "These are his house keys." Don said, hoarsely, holding up each item in turn. "His wallet. His cellphone."

He looked up to meet Larry's eyes, his own suddenly hot and dry. "Jesus, Larry, he wouldn't just lose this stuff. He's been snatched."

* * * * * * *

Don hadn't been lying when he told Terry that Charlie disappeared before, but he hadn't exactly been telling the truth either. Although Charlie had a long history of turning up late to events, not turning up at all, losing track of time, and generally conforming to the absent-minded stereotype of geniuses everywhere, to Don's knowledge he'd vanished completely only twice.

The first time was when Charlie was eleven. Charlie's private school for gifted children had planned a trip to a museum in the centre of LA. Charlie had been put on the bus by their mother, protesting all the while that he had no interest in museums, but when she came to pick him up that evening, Charlie was nowhere to be seen. None of the other children could remember seeing him since their arrival at the museum. Don, waiting in the car, still dirty from baseball practice, watched his mother's face grow tighter and her eyes wetter and more frantic as she questioned teachers and children about Charlie. It seemed no one had missed him; no one cared why he had not been there at lunch.

Just as Don thought his mother was going to start crying for real, a car pulled up in the school parking lot, and Charlie got out, followed by a large man in a museum security uniform. Don's mother let out a sort of sighing scream and embraced her son fiercely. He was bundled back in the car, scolded all the way home, and grounded for a month. Charlie had been found asleep in the men's room of the museum, a book about topology still open in his lap. Only Don seemed to notice the dirty tracks where tears had rolled down his brother's cheeks. Only Don knew, after walking in on his brother changing before dinner, about the bruises marching up and down Charlie's skinny arms, normally hidden by long sleeves. Don picked his brother up from school every night for the first two weeks that Charlie was grounded, making sure anyone interested got a good look at Charlie's athletic, protective older brother, until the old bruises faded and no new ones appeared.

The second time Charlie vanished he was eighteen, and he had just been awarded his doctorate. The ceremony had been long and pompous; Charlie was given an armful of awards and a special mention for his age and brilliance. Their mother cried, their father patted Charlie's back in choked-up approval, and, to Don's eyes, Charlie looked bewildered and lost, swamped in his colourful robes. Two days later, Charlie vanished, disappearing out of the garage where he'd set up his blackboards. He wasn't missed until lunchtime, but then all hell broke loose. Twenty-four sleepless hours later, just before Don's parents bowed to the inevitable and called the police to report him missing, Charlie walked in the front door. He was seized, hugged, shaken, and grounded again, despite his age. Don took his little brother aside later and explained forcefully why Charlie was never going to do that again, and felt relieved that the lost look in Charlie's eyes had receded a little.

This time, though, it didn't look like Charlie had disappeared voluntarily. His brother was absent-minded, but he wouldn't dump his bag in the bushes, and he wouldn't leave his keys or his wallet behind. Don was trying to remain calm, torn between running out to his car and looking for Charlie himself, and following a procedure he knew was more likely to result in finding Charlie.

A call in to his office had brought Terry and David down to campus within a half an hour. They were with campus security, interviewing the student who had found Charlie's bag, and reviewing the campus CCTV footage to see if there was any record of Charlie's abrupt departure. Don was still trying to decipher Charlie's calendar, which seemed to have been written in badly spelled pig Latin.

"GL MM 9AM for S." He read aloud from the space below Monday's date. Larry looked up from where he was scanning through Charlie's latest notebook, which they had also found in the bag. When Larry had seen it, his face had paled, as if this were the evidence he needed to truly believe Charlie had been taken. Larry was hoping to find some clue to Charlie's disappearance in his most recent work.

"Guest lecture, Mathematical Models for Professor Sanders." Larry said. "It was a post-graduate seminar. He asked me my opinion on his outline." Larry paused, and flipped over a couple of pages in Charlie's notebook. "This is a remarkable object. I had no idea Charles was looking at even half of the problems he has sketched out approaches for in this notebook."

Don looked up. "Do you know if he made it to the lecture?"

Larry reached for the phone. "Katie? Yes, this is Larry Fleinhardt. You attended Charles' lecture on Monday, didn't you? Did he use my example about black holes? Oh. Yes. No, I haven't seen him." Don caught Larry's eye and shook his head violently. "No, I think he's been… uh… unwell for a few days. Yes. I'll be sure to tell him. Okay, bye then."

Larry put the phone down. "Yes, he was there, it went well. I take it Charles' disappearance is not intended for public consumption?"

Don shook his head again. "Not until we have a better idea of what is going on." He looked down at Charlie's diary again. "Why can't he just write what he is doing in English?" Frustrated, he slammed it shut and shoved it across the desk.

Someone knocked on the door, but before either man could answer, it burst open and Amita rushed in. "Charlie!" She came to an abrupt halt when she caught sight of the two men. "Oh."

Larry stood up. "Amita. You haven't heard from him?"

She shook her head sharply. "No, I heard voices as I was passing, I thought he might be back." Her eyes fell on the table. "Is that… is that his _bag_?" The anxiety in her voice kicked up a notch.

Larry walked over to her and touched her arm. "Yes. It was found Tuesday."

Don could see Amita was working up to a slew of questions, and was relieved when David and Terry appeared in the doorway. Larry looked at their serious faces, and held his hand out to Amita. "Why don't we go to my office? We can look over Charlie's work, and his diary," raising an eyebrow at Don, "to see if we can find something to assist Don."

Amita opened her mouth to object, but seeing Terry's expression, decided it was best to acquiesce. "Yes, all right." She looked over at Don. "You'll let us know if we can help."

Don nodded, and passed over Charlie's diary to Larry. He waited until they had left the room, and then turned to Terry and David. "Anything?"

Terry shook her head. "Not really. The CCTV system here at Cal Sci is restricted to building entrances and exits. It doesn't cover the bike rack that Charlie uses. They're copying tapes from cameras on this side of the campus for us so we can look for Charlie coming and going. He may have been approached here, or as he left the building, in which case his abductor may be on tape. It's being sent straight to the office."

Don felt the word "abductor" like a blow to his stomach. "David?" he asked, to cover his sudden nausea.

David flipped open his PDA. "The student who found the bag was Mark Henderson. He's a freshman in the geology school who uses the same bike rack as Charlie. He says he found the bag when he arrived for his nine a.m. lecture on Tuesday, after hearing Charlie's phone ring, and handed it in after class. That ties in with the record at the Lost and Found office."

Terry was looking through the contents of Charlie's wallet as David spoke. "Forty dollars in cash. Credit cards. Driver's license. Not a robbery." She looked over at Don. "Is there any chance he's just gone missing? You said yourself he's done this before."

Don began pacing, running his fingers through his hair. "Not like this. Not without money. Not for three days. He knows Dad worries. Charlie's careless, but he's not cruel."

Terry remained silent, and Don glared over at her, thinking she doubted him. Instead, she was looking at a card she'd pulled from Charlie's wallet. "Andrew Johnson, National Security Agency, LA office." she said, quietly. "There's a contact number. You don't think…?"

Don grabbed the card from her and flipped open his cellphone, dialling the number quickly.

A male voice answered. "Johnson."

"Hi. This is Special Agent Don Eppes of the FBI."

"Who? How did you get this number?" The man sounded irate. "Wait. Eppes?"

Don gestured at Terry to close the door. "Yes. I'm Charlie's brother."

"He's mentioned you, Agent."

"I'm calling…" Don fumbled for words. "I'm calling to see if you happen to have my brother at the moment."

The voice at the end of the phone was sharp and tense, suddenly. "You don't have him?"

"No." Don made eye contact with Terry, feeling his muscles tighten. "It appears he's been missing since Monday."

"Missing?" Johnson's voice was harsh in his ear. "You suspect foul play?"

"His bag and some personal items were found abandoned on campus. He hasn't been in touch." Don gripped the phone tightly.

Johnson inhaled sharply. "That is not good news, Agent Eppes."

"Why, what's going on?" Don could hear the anger rising in his voice. He took a deep breath to try and force some calm.

"We've had two disappearances over the last two weeks among scientists who've consulted with the NSA. Both of them were in California."

Johnson's tone was flat. "We recovered the body of one of the two men on Tuesday. We should meet. I can be at the Bureau's offices within the hour." The phone clicked.

* * * * * * *

Don pulled the phone away from his ear and flicked it closed. "Shit. Shit." He wanted to throw the phone on the floor. He wanted to stamp on it until it was crushed. He reined in his temper with effort. "Okay, David. Go talk to Larry and Amita. See if they found anything. Get a time-line for Charlie's activities on Monday. Then come in to the office and match it to the CCTV tapes. Terry, you're with me."

David nodded, exchanging a glance with Terry, who tossed him the keys to the car they had arrived in.

"Don." Terry ran to catch up with him as Don stormed off down the hallways of the Math Department. "What's going on?"

Don slammed through the door out to the parking lot. "The guy from the NSA is meeting us in an hour. Two of their consultants have gone missing in the last two weeks. One of them is dead."

Terry's eyes widened in shock. "And he thinks Charlie…?"

Don got into the car, barely waiting for Terry to climb in and close her own door before throwing the car into reverse and roaring out of the parking lot.

"I don't know, Terry." He heard his voice crack a little on her name, and glared fiercely at the road ahead to cover his emotions.

* * * * * * *

By the time they reached the office, news of Charlie's disappearance had clearly reached the other agents in Don's team. They murmured their regrets at Charlie's disappearance, patting him on the back, offered him all the help he needed. Terry went straight to the conference room and began setting up on the whiteboard, David relaying information from Larry and Amita on campus.

"Where are we?" asked Don, coming into the room and sitting on one of the tables. "This is Monday?"

There were gaps in a few places. Don pointed to a space between eleven and twelve. "He was here at eleven twenty. That was when the call came in about Williams being at his family home. He told me he had something he wanted to show me, but I had to leave."

Terry nodded, and noted down the time. "Did he mention what it was?"

Don shook his head. "No. He seemed excited, but you know Charlie, it could have been anything, and I was trying to stop another bombing."

He looked away from Terry. "I told him I didn't have time for him."

Terry's expression softened, and she reached over to pat his arm. "He knew what you meant. He knows how important your work is."

Don nodded, his eyes still on the floor. Terry sighed. "Don. We need to talk to your father. We need to know when Charlie left in the morning, if anything has been going on at home. We should get Larry to check through the work he keeps there, see if that contains any clues."

Don met her eyes at that. "No. Oh, no." He shook his head. "I am not going to worry my father with this until I have at least some answers to the questions he is going to have."

Terry started to protest. "But Don, he'll already be…"

A sharp knock on the door interrupted her. "Agent Eppes?"

Don slid off the table. "Agent Johnson?" The man nodded. He was tall, much taller than Don, and wore a suit and tie. He swung a briefcase onto the table where Don had been sitting, and unlocked it.

"The two consultants who went missing," Johnson began, without preamble, "were in a very different field to Professor Eppes. We informed all our other consultants with similar expertise, and increased security for those we believed to be most at risk. Professor Eppes was deemed a low-risk target, and our policy is not to divulge threats made towards our consultants unless we believe there is a genuine danger. There are a lot of threats made, and we don't want to scare people unnecessarily."

Don moved restlessly. "On what grounds did you exclude Charlie?"

Johnson opened a file. "Although your brother's field of study does intersect with what we believe, on the basis of information gathered so far, and the identity of the other two victims, the kidnappers are trying to achieve, his level of expertise was not required."

Terry broke in. "You mean, they needed a mathematician, but not necessarily someone like Charlie?"

The NSA agent nodded. "It would be like stealing from a gourmet restaurant when all you need is a loaf of bread. However, your call came in just as I received information that suggests that the perpetrators are working out of a base here in LA. It may be that Charlie was just convenient."

Don scowled, and crossed his arms. "What now?"

Agent Johnson took a deep breath. "We have reason to believe that the second man taken is also already dead. Forensic evidence from the first body."

Don felt tension grip him, radiating across his shoulders and down into his stomach. Johnson looked at over at him. "We think we know where they are. We have made plans for an assault on their location this evening. We have eyes on the building now, but there's little movement. At this time, I can't confirm or deny Professor Eppes' presence in the building."

Johnson turned to face Don full on. "The operation is planned for five o'clock. You may send a team in with us, if you choose, provided that it's clear that your men are under NSA authority for the duration of the assault." Johnson's eyes slid away. "I hear you have a problem with intra-agency co-operation, so I want to make that perfectly clear."

The tension in Don erupted. He was across the room in a heartbeat, his hands knotted in Agent Johnson's suit jacket. "They have my _brother_. Do you think I give a shit about your _jurisdiction_?" He shook the larger agent a little with every word.

Johnson tried to back away, crashing into the table behind him as he moved. Terry pulled at Don's arm, telling him to let go. Outside of the glass office, agents turned to look at the noise of the altercation. Don released the other man and spun away, slamming the door behind him and shoving through the little crowd that had gathered outside of the door.

Agent Johnson pulled at the front of his shirt, flattening his hand over the creased material. Terry watched him silently, frowning. He closed his briefcase, and opened the door again. "Prepare him for the worst." He turned back to Terry. "The body we recovered suggests these men have not been treated kindly."

Terry watched him leave, then bent to pick up some fallen papers with hands that shook.

* * * * * * *

Within the hour, Don had the information gathered by Agent Johnson, and a list of the suspects involved.

"Two of them are on the FBIs Most Wanted list," Terry said. "That should convince the Assistant Director to allow us to participate."

"Links to organized crime, outstanding warrants for murder and abduction." Don replied, flicking quickly through file. "These guys are big-time. What do they want with a bunch of scientists?"

Terry looked at the profiles of the two men who had gone missing. "Looks like they both assisted the NSA with military security projects."

Don flinched, remembering Charlie's half-completed admission about his work with the NSA. He flipped through the file again, looking at the photos of the two scientists.

The phone rang, and Don reached out to grab it. "Eppes."

"Your Director has approved the joint raid. Two of your men can join us." Agent Johnson's voice was emotionless.

Don gave Terry a thumb's up sign. "Good. Terry Lake and I will be there from the FBI. We'll see you at the briefing at four."

There was a pause at the other end of the phone. "Two men other than yourself, Agent Eppes."

Don frowned. "No, I will be in the team entering the building."

Agent Johnson blew a noisy breath over the phone line. "I understand your situation, Agent Eppes, but you cannot be in that team. I don't believe that your focus will be on the mission while your brother is involved."

Don looked up to roll his eyes at Terry, to find her frowning darkly at him herself. He looked away, hunching his shoulders. "You understand _nothing_, Johnson. I'll be there. And my focus will be just _fine_."

He hung up on Johnson's continuing protest.

* * * * * * *

His head aching, his throat sore from the loud disagreement with Terry that had followed the phone call from Johnson, Don retreated to the break room for coffee.

Don waited for the machine to dispense his drink. He leaned his head against the cool metal and closed his eyes, pushing away memories of too many raids gone sour, too many civilian hostages caught in friendly fire. The machine gurgled and whirred.

Terry's hand on his arm brought him back to the present. "Don?"

"Yeah." Don straightened up, reaching to grab his coffee. As he picked it up, the plastic cup split, and coffee cascaded over his hand and onto his pants. "Ow! Shit! Fuck!"

Suddenly furious, he flung the broken cup across the room, and struck the machine with his fist. "Damn it!"

Terry just watched him, her face twisted in sympathy. "Don, please. This won't help."

Don turned on her. "What will help? Huh? What can _possibly_ help at this moment?" He stopped, struggling for calm. "I have to be there for him, Terry."

"You can't be." Terry's voice was firm, if sympathetic. "You know you can't, Don. You have to stand back."

"This is my _brother_, Terry. How can I stand back from this?" Don shook off Terry's hand, and turned to her, his face pleading and desperate. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Go home." Terry said immediately. "Go home, tell your dad what's going on. He deserves to hear it from you. I'll set up the team. David can take your place, while you stay in the command centre."

Don opened his mouth to argue, but Terry's expression stopped him. "You can't be there, Don. Let me look after this. Trust me to take care of him. Go home."

Slowly, Don nodded.

* * * * * * *

The clock in the solarium had stopped at six o'clock. These days it was Charlie who spent the most time in the room, so it wasn't unexpected that the stopped clock should have gone unnoticed and untended. The room itself had once been their mother's favourite place in the house, always cluttered with plants and books. Don remembered hours spent playing at his mother's feet while she read or worked at her desk. Don thought sometimes that Charlie liked to work there just to keep her close.

"He's been kidnapped?" Alan's voice was cracked and tired. Don had never heard his father sound so exhausted, so hopeless. "Why? Does someone want us to pay a ransom? I have the money from the house."

"No, Dad, no one has asked for money. Charlie did some work for… for a government agency," hedged Don, uncertain how much Charlie had told their father. He would have said, a year ago, that Charlie had no secrets, but working with him on so many cases had worn away at that illusion. "They think that Charlie, and some other scientists, might have been taken hostage for the information they have about a project they worked on."

"But they know where he is? They can get him out safely?"

"They think so." Don couldn't bear to look his father in the eye while he said this, all too aware that there may be no more safety for Charlie, no more peace for any of them. "Dad. I have to go back. I have to be there when they try to get him out. I wanted you to hear it from me though."

He stood, and waited uncertainly. "Dad. Can I get someone to come be with you?"

His father made a tiny, rejecting motion. "No, there's no one."

"It might help, to have someone to wait with." Don tried to make his voice convincing, struggling with the soothing nonsense that had worked with the families of a thousand nameless, faceless victims. "Let me call someone for you. Art, or someone."

"No." His father's voice had strengthened in anger. "No, I don't want anyone."

Don sighed, and glanced quickly at his watch. "I have to go. I'll bring him home, Dad, I swear."

Alan said nothing, and when Don looked back from the door, he was sitting, unmoving, his face a mask of despair. "Dad. I swear."

He was two steps away from the door when he heard his father say, "I know you will, Don."

* * * * * * *

The command centre was a white van, parked discreetly a block away from the building the NSA had under surveillance. The team going in were readying themselves in a cordoned-off street out of view. Don settled into a chair next to Andrew Johnson, and spoke in to the headset that connected him to the FBI team. "FBI team status?"

"Ready." Terry's voice came clearly over the headset, her voice hard and determined.

Agent Johnson spoke into his own microphone. "Operation is go."

Immediately, there was a quick, hushed exchange of orders as the assault plan was put into action. Don heard all the sub-teams check in to say they were in position, Terry and David reporting in from the basement level window through which they were to break and enter. The order went out for all the teams to move. The shouts and commands of the armed government agents rang out in the building, relayed to the command centre. There were sporadic bursts of gunfire almost immediately, as agents disarmed the men standing guard near the door, then ordered two other men to the floor. Suddenly, Terry's voice over-rode the others. "Freeze! Put the weapon down!"

Don tensed, his heart pounding. "I said freeze!" Terry's order was crisp, unafraid. "Put the weapon down. Good. Now, on your knees. Get down! Cuff him, David." There was a sudden scuffling noise, a harsh indrawn breath from Terry clearly audible over the radio. "Prisoner is secure. Control, we have an injured hostage here, alert paramedics."

Unable to help himself, Don grabbed for his radio. "Terry, is it...?"

Before he could finish his question, Terry answered, "It's not Charlie. No sign of him here."

Other teams were checking in – the building was almost clear, with only one confrontation still taking place on an upper floor. Agents were shouting for a man to lay down his weapon. More shots were fired. "Agent down! Agent down!" The volume of the radio seemed to magnify tenfold.

Through the noise, Don heard a sniper's cool voice saying "I have a shot, upper window."

"Take it." Johnson ordered, his voice icily calm. There was a sudden sharp retort, and the gunfire abruptly ceased.

Silence reigned for a split-second, then reports began to filter in. The agent down was winged, and receiving emergency first aid in situ. All six conspirators had been found, two of them killed during the assault. Only one hostage had been found. Don threw open the back door of the van and ran over to the entrance of the building in time to see David pulling a handcuffed man out of the building. As they approached, Don reached out and grabbed at the man's shirt. "Where's Charlie?" He shook the man violently. "Where's my brother?"

The man seemed dazed, a trickle of blood rolling down his forehead. "Who? Who's Charlie?"

Don shook him again. "Don't lie to me. Where the fuck did you put him?"

The captured man struggled weakly in Don's grip. "I don't know what you're talking about." He half-turned towards David. "Hey, get this lunatic off me."

At that moment, Terry appeared, helping the hostage out of the building. He was filthy, one leg of his jeans caked in blood, and limping badly. He clung to Terry. "Don!" Terry called. With one last shove, Don let go of the man, and rushed over to assist Terry. Offering a shoulder to the hostage, he helped the man towards a waiting ambulance. Terry began to talk, "Don, this is Roger Samuels. He tells me there were only two of them taken. They haven't seen any sign of a third hostage."

Don stumbled, and the hostage yelped as he was forced to stand his weight on his injured leg. "Sorry, I'm sorry," Don said, righting himself hastily. "Is that true? You haven't seen anyone else? A mathematician, Charles Eppes?"

"I've been here for nine days," Samuels replied, his voice high and breathy with pain, "After they… After they killed Markham, I did everything I could to help them, to try to stay alive. They never mentioned anyone else, they didn't need a mathematician."

They arrived at the ambulance, and Don helped the man sit down. He appeared to have been badly beaten, his face bruised and swollen. Freed of the need to hold onto them, his arms slid automatically to cradle his ribs. The injury to his leg appeared to be tied off with a rough tourniquet. Don saw a tear in the fabric that looked like a bullet hole.

After a moment conferring with the paramedics, Terry rejoined him, and they moved back towards the van. "There was no sign of Charlie, Don, no clothes, nothing."

Agent Johnson was standing outside the van, taking reports from team members. "Agent Eppes."

"The hostage says there were only two of them taken. That he hadn't heard or seen Charlie." Don's hands were shaking, so he shoved then in his pockets.

"We've questioned the captors. The two that are talking are the hired muscle. They swear there wasn't a third man, that they only snatched Markham and Samuels. I don't have any reason to disbelieve them."

Don sank down to sit on the tailgate of the van. "Then we're nowhere. We don't have any idea where he is."

Agent Johnson was silent for a moment, then he nodded. "Your help was appreciated. Good luck finding your brother." He walked away, towards the small knot of the press that had started to form outside the police cordon.

"Nowhere," repeated Don, almost to himself.

* * * * * * *

Back at the Bureau, Don pulled together his team, and pinned up a photo of his brother, blown up from the security pass he wore when he came into the office. Below it was the half-completed time-line they had been working on when the NSA lead had come up.

"Okay people, we've lost a half day to the raid. It wasn't wasted time. Between us and the NSA, we brought down two of the FBIs Most Wanted. One is dead, the other will face multiple charges of murder, conspiracy and abduction. And that's just here in California. Terry, David, great job."

Don nodded at the two agents. Others in the room took the opportunity to murmur congratulations and pat their team members on the back.

When the hubbub had died down a little, Don continued. "However, our math consultant, my brother, is still missing. Let's see what we have."

David spoke up. "I matched Charlie's known movements to the CCTV footage sent through by Cal Sci. The last sightings of him on the university cameras on Monday are between 1:30 and 2:05 pm. He arrived at the Math Department at 1:30, and then leaves by the main exit of the Math Department building, in the direction of the bike rack at 2:05. He is carrying his bag. I also looked at his phone. He took a call at 1:50pm, just prior to his disappearance, which lasted less than a minute. The call was placed from a payphone on campus. The next call came in at 2:30, from his father, and was not answered."

"So we can assume he was abducted in that twenty-five minute period." Don replied. "David, go back to campus, see if any classes nearby were letting out around that time, ask around to see if anyone saw anything. This is a busy college campus. I can't believe a man can be abducted without anyone noticing. Check out the payphone that call came from."

"Past cases," said Terry. "There's been some publicity, he's had to testify a couple of times. Family members, other associates, might have decided to act out some kind of revenge against Charlie."

Don nodded. "Yeah, okay, let's have a look at cases he's been involved in, see if anyone associated with the perpetrators has a taste of abduction."

"Could he have been working on something?" another agent asked, "Something like that guy whose daughter was kidnapped?"

"One of his colleagues helped me to rule out any of the work he was keeping at the university, but I'll get him to look at the blackboards at home, see if there's anything there." Don responded, writing a reminder. "What else?"

"Professional jealousy," said Terry, " Jealous sexual partner, either his own, or the partner of someone he is involved with. I've seen cases of each resulting in abduction."

Don could feel himself flush at the thought of anyone digging into Charlie's personal life. Clearing his throat, he said, "I'll look into that, check e-mail, personal correspondence. I think that's enough for now. Let's move on the enquiries at the university and looking at past cases. There are photos of Charlie on my desk to flash at the university. Report in to David or Terry, please."

Agents began to move out of the room, chatting amongst themselves. Don turned to Terry and David. "I'm going to look into Charlie's personal life, which believe me, he will not appreciate when he finds out. It'll give me a chance to talk to Dad as well. Call me if anything comes in."

* * * * * * *

Don called Larry on his way out to the car, and by the time he got to the house, Charlie's mentor had already arrived and was sitting on the porch talking quietly with Alan.

"Don," he called, as Don reached the steps up to the house, "You look like you've had a long, hard day."

"Yeah, you could say that." Don looked over at his father, whose face was drawn and grey with fatigue. "Dad, you should sleep, you look terrible."

"Time enough to sleep when we have your brother back," was his father's sharp retort. His tone softened again with his next phrase. "You're sure that those guys downtown didn't have your brother? They've been covering it on the news. They killed another scientist."

Don shook his head. "They had never even heard of Charlie. I know it looks bad, that we haven't found him yet, but I can't be sorry he wasn't taken by them."

"I'd love to hear Charles' take on the statistical likelihood of there being two people snatching scientists at the same time," said Larry, his tone holding a thread of amusement. "I'm fairly sure the odds are astronomical. We don't usually even get invited places, let alone forcibly removed from our offices."

Don found his mouth curving into a small smile, the first for hours. "We'll get him right on that when we find him. Now I need your help, both of you."

Larry stood up immediately. "You want me to check his computer, his blackboards, see if he was working on anything relevant."

"Yes," Don agreed, "But first, I have some questions for you both."

The two men looked at him expectantly, Larry sinking back into his seat. "Sometimes these situations can arise out of a personal grudge. Can either of you think of anything that Charlie might have done to upset someone? It might be professional or personal."

Larry shrugged. "Academia is certainly cut-throat, but we're more likely to write a scathing review of someone's work, or maybe ask difficult questions during a seminar than stoop to physical attacks." He paused for a moment. "That said, there was considerable fuss a few weeks ago, when Charles was notified about winning the Boothroyd prize."

Don looked up from the notes he was taking. "A prize?"

Alan spoke up. "He didn't tell me he won another award."

Larry spread his hands and shrugged. "It wasn't official yet, but it's widely known among the faculty. It's awarded for contributions to probability theory. I think this is the first time a mathematician as young as Charles has ever been given the prize."

"And people were jealous of this?" Don said, trying hard to keep the sceptical tone out of his voice.

Larry raised his eyebrows. "The honour is significant in our world, I don't expect you to understand that. However, perhaps the two hundred thousand dollar prize money will convince you."

Taken aback, Don parroted, "Two hundred thousand? Yeah, I'd call that significant."

Larry shrugged again. "I don't quite see how abducting him would benefit someone disgruntled over Charlie's academic honours, though."

"I'm just pursuing leads right now. Was there anyone in particular who seemed bitter or angry?" Larry thought about for a few moment, then suggested a couple of names of people who, he said, had reacted more strongly than he would have expected.

"What about the other, the personal thing?" Don said.

Alan laughed harshly. "I am the last person to ask about Charlie's love life. He's never confided in me about that."

Larry murmured in agreement, and spoke up when Don looked at him. "We've never spoken about it. I know there have been women in his life, but he's never mentioned anyone serious, and I've never asked."

"There was the stalker," Alan added, suddenly.

Don felt his jaw sag with amazement, "Charlie had a _stalker_?"

Larry laughed, "More like a groupie, but she was a little out of control. This was just after he started teaching. She used to follow him around a lot, broke into his office a couple of times to leave him love letters, that sort of thing."

"A _math groupie_?" Don asked, as if Larry hadn't spoken.

The two older men laughed at his tone, Alan's chuckle sounding rusty.

"She left though," Larry continued, "She was doing a doctorate at Memphis last time I heard. She wrote him a letter a couple of years back to apologize for her behaviour."

"Still, we should check on her," said Don, amused by the very idea of his brother – his _brother _– having a groupie. "Can you give me her name?"

Larry nodded.

"Let's get started. I'm going to check his e-mails, make sure there's nothing there. Dad, would you look in his bedroom? He's less likely to be upset when he comes back if it's you who had a look round. Larry, his work is mostly in the solarium and in the garage, of course, and I'll let you have the computer once I'm done."

The three men split up. As Don went into the solarium to find Charlie's computer, he wondered how his brother would cope with the snooping they were forced to do to help find him, by the revelation of all his little secrets. Even as he searched for something to lead them to Charlie's current location, he was hoping they didn't dig up something that would be better left undisturbed.

* * * * * * *

When Don looked up again from Charlie's computer, the light was completely gone from the sky. He'd found nothing, nothing at all. Charlie's e-mails consisted mostly of messages from students begging for help or extensions on assignments, discussions with colleagues which he set aside for Larry to look at, exchanges with publishers about the various papers he had submitted to math journals, and vaguely flirtatious exchanges with Amita. Nothing else on his hard drive had caught Don's attention, except for a folder of pictures that he flicked hastily past when his father came into the room with a cup of coffee, and resolved to tease his brother about at the earliest opportunity.

Larry and Alan had similar experiences – minus the porn, Don assumed. Larry came in from the garage with a page full of notes about things he meant to ask Charlie about, but nothing specific to report, and Alan said only that he now knew where the household supply of drinking glasses had vanished to, having unearthed a half a dozen under Charlie's bed.

Frustrated, Don bade the two men goodnight, and headed back to the office. As he left, he overheard Larry offer to stay over, suggesting a game of chess, and felt relieved that his father would not be alone for another night.

The reports from the agents in the field were just as disheartening. Although there had been a dozen or more students outside the math department when Charlie had vanished, none of them remembered anything unusual. At the time Charlie had disappeared, there had been some kind of protest in the middle of the quad next to the Math Department, and most of their attention had been on that.

Terry's list of possible suspects was short, and she'd soon eliminated the majority of them based on opportunity and motive. Even Charlie's groupie had been cleared, as she was currently leading a blameless existence in Memphis. Don gave Terry the list of names Larry had provided, but she quickly struck off two of them when it was discovered the men were both over seventy and in failing health.

David, Terry and Don reconvened in the meeting room in front of the board where Charlie's photo was pinned. "I think we've ruled out most of the obvious possibilities," Terry said, glumly.

Don ran his hands through his hair, tugged at the wavy strands. "What are we missing? There has to be something, somewhere, that we're overlooking. He can't just have vanished." He could feel the tension, the anger rising up in him again, at the thought of his brother out there somewhere alone, afraid, maybe hurt, while he sat here, safe, in his office. "Where the hell is he?"

* * * * * * *

Terry sighed, and rubbed at her temples. "Let's go over it again."

The three agents walked up to the board and looked it over.

David raised his notepad. "According to your father, Charlie left the house on Monday at eight-thirty. He arrived at school twenty minutes later, entering the side-door of the Math building closest to his office. He delivered a lecture at nine, and came out of the same exit at ten eighteen."

He cued up the video, and they watched Charlie's slight figure exit the side door, his curly head bent forward as he spoke to a young woman. As they watched, the two exchanged goodbyes, and the woman walked away. Charlie followed a moment later, heading out of shot away from the building. "Who is she?" Don asked, "Did we speak to her?

"Teacher's Assistant from the class," David replied. "Katherine Davis. She confirmed Charlie gave the lecture, and then left, saying he was going to see his brother. We know he came here, and spoke to you just as the call came in about Williams at eleven twenty."

Don nodded. "And then he's back on campus at what, one thirty?"

"Right, he goes in by the same door. Twenty minutes later he gets a phone call, he takes a few minutes to sort himself out, and he exits again by the same door. Here he is."

The same shot from over the door showed Charlie leaving the building, his bag in his hand. Just before he disappeared out of shot, he raised a hand, then vanished from the camera's view.

"What was that? Rewind a second." Don stood up and moved closer to the screen. The tape played again. "Does it look like he's greeting someone?"

Terry squinted at the screen. "Looks like it. It could be anyone though Don, his entire department is based in this building."

"Or it could be the person who abducted him." Don argued. "What do we know about the phone call?"

"Made from a payphone on campus, not far from where Charlie keeps his bike. We had a tech dust for prints, but there were dozens, and the lab is backed up. No hits yet." David set down the notepad and rubbed at his eyes. "Don, we've been over this a dozen times now. There's nothing there."

Don stood up, walked over to the glass wall of the office. A few people in the main office were leaving, pulling on their jackets and exchanging good nights. In the reflection of the glass, he saw Terry and David exchange concerned looks.

Terry stood up and moved to stand beside him. "Let's take a break, I'll get some food delivered. You can't help him this way."

Don sighed, and dropped his head to lean against the window. "I know. You're right."

The three agents left the room. Don headed over to his desk and sifted through the papers littering the surface looking for the menu for the deli that would deliver to the Bureau offices. Finding it, he flung it over to Terry. "Order me a sandwich and chips."

Terry pulled a face at him, but picked up her phone.

Don turned back to his desk, bending over to pick up a couple of pieces of paper that had fallen on the floor. He caught his breath as he came across a small bundle of pages with Charlie's handwriting scratched across the surface. Don sat down, flattening out the corners of the top page with his palm. A post-it note was stuck to the top of the top page. _'Came back @ 12:30' _it read _'but you weren't here. Need to talk to you about this. Charlie.'_

"Don?" Terry interrupted his thoughts, "You want anything else? Salad?"

Absently, Don shook his head. Don stood up and looked over at the time-line, visible through the glass wall. They had assumed Charlie had gone straight back to the university after stopping off to see Don. Now, though, it looked like Charlie had been in the FBI building for at least part of the time.

Don looked down at the slightly crumpled pages. The top sheet was a photocopy of Charlie's timesheet for the month, showing all the cases he'd worked on and the hours he had worked for the Bureau. It was clipped to a series of similar pages, all of them for different consultants. Charlie had ringed several of the entries in red.

The phone rang. Don ignored it, reaching for the sheaf of notes he'd made while he'd been prying into Charlie's computer files. He'd printed out a list of internet searches Charlie had made. Among them, he confirmed now, were a series of hits on accounting sites on Monday morning.

The phone kept ringing. "You going to get that?" asked David, coming back in from the restroom.

"What?" Don looked up from his study of Charlie's notes. "Yeah, here look at this a second. It looks like Charlie was here doing something until twelve thirty."

Reaching out, he grabbed the receiver of the phone.

"Eppes," he said, absently, reading the papers again over David's shoulder. The line was silent. "Hello? FBI, Special Agent Eppes speaking."

David was looking at the sheets, his expression puzzled. He looked over at Don, who shook his head and shrugged. Terry came over to join them, leaning into David to see what they were looking at.

The phone line still seemed to be dead. Impatiently, Don moved to put the phone down. Just as he lifted the phone away from his ear, he heard a whisper. "Donny?"

"Hello? Who is this?" Don turned his attention fully back to the phone.

"Don? Donny. It's me." The voice on the other end of the phone was a little stronger now, but still barely audible.

"Charlie?" Don said. Terry and David looked up, startled. "Is that you buddy?" He reached out and slapped the speakerphone button on the handset, so that the others could hear the call.

"You have to come get me." Charlie's voice hitched. "Please, can you come get me?"

Don leaned over the speaker. "Where are you, buddy? Tell me and I'll be there right away."

"I… I don't know. I walked. I don't know where I am."

"Are you calling from a payphone?" Don asked, groping on his desk for a pen. '_TRACE THE CALL_' he scrawled on a piece of paper and held it up to David. David nodded, and moved away to his computer.

"Yes. I only have a quarter." Charlie sounded desperate, and Don gripped the edge of his desk hard, trying to stay calm. "How long does a quarter last?"

"Can you read me the number on the phone?" Don asked. Terry sat down at the computer next to him, and pulled up a program, waiting for Charlie to give them the number.

They could hear fumbling noises on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, yeah. It's 213-655-32… I can't read the rest. It's been scratched off." Charlie's voice was rising, sounding close to hysteria.

Don looked over at Terry. "Two phones," she mouthed at him, "Get more." On the screen a map blinked with two lights separated by a few blocks.

"Can you see anything else?" Don asked, trying to keep his voice calm, even while his stomach jumped and jittered, "A street sign?"

"No, no it's dark." Charlie sounded muffled now. In the background, they heard sirens approach and fade away quickly, and a sudden muffled banging. "Don. Don, someone else wants the phone. I have to go."

"No! Charlie! Stay on the line," Don almost shouted. "Terry's going to talk to you for a second. Hang on, buddy."

Terry leapt to her feet, and started talking. "Charlie? Charlie, are you hurt?"

"My arm, I think… and, my feet hurt." Charlie's voice was muffled, "Can you come get me? He might find me."

"We'll be there soon, Charlie. Who might find you?"

While Terry was talking, Don grabbed David's arm and pulled him away from his computer. "Trace is taking too long. Take these two addresses. Call the LAPD and find out from dispatch whether there have been police vehicles in active pursuit along either of these two roads. Do it while you get the car. Meet me out front."

"Charlie? Is anyone with you, Charlie?" Terry was still trying to keep Don's brother talking.

"I have to go. I can't… my money is running out." Charlie was sounding more and upset.

"Stay near the phone, Charlie," Don called, clipping on his gun hastily. "Don't leave."

The line went dead and started beeping. "Shit. Shit! Terry. David's trace is almost done. Stay here, keep trying the number once you have it. If he picks up, keep him talking, that way we at least know where he is. Call for paramedics to meet us there once you have an address."

Terry nodded, picking up her phone to put the ambulance on standby.

Don ran for the door, calling back over his shoulder. "I'll radio you from the car. Call him back!"

* * * * * * *

The drive through the dark felt agonizingly slow, even though David had his foot to the floor. Don spent most of it on the phone, taking over David's call with the LAPD. Within minutes, they discovered which phone booth Charlie had called from.

Don radioed in to Terry. "Call my father," he told her, grabbing on to the handle above the window as David took a corner too fast. "Tell him Charlie made contact. Are the paramedics en route?"

"Their ETA is fifteen minutes." Terry replied. Don could hear a phone ringing in the background on speakerphone. "There's no answer at the payphone Charlie was using."

"We'll be there in five minutes."

"He's hurt, Don, and confused. He may try to hide."

"He won't hide from me." Don said. David threw the car hard around another bend in the road.

As soon as they screeched to a halt at the payphone, Don flung the car door open, barely waiting for David to bring the vehicle to a stop. He pulled his gun and ran over to the phone box. The phone was still ringing, but there was no sign of Charlie. Don reached out to pick up the receiver. "Terry?"

"Yes, is he there?" Terry asked.

"No, I'm going to look for him." Don spun, looking up and down the street, and gestured to David to go left. He set off to the right, his gun held low but ready. About fifty yards down the street, a large man emerged from an alleyway, fumbling at his fly as he moved. He was staggering, drunk. Don hit the wall next to the alley, and then turned, gun held out, into the dark space, his flashlight aimed to illuminate the ground. It stank of rotting garbage and urine. Old boxes were piled at one end. Casting an occasional look backwards over his shoulder, Don walked cautiously along the edge of the wall.

Suddenly, there was a movement among the boxes, and Don levelled his gun. "Charlie?" he called, "Is that you?"

The boxes shifted and revealed a dirty, unfamiliar face. Don stepped back as the owner of the face began to spit obscenities at him. He moved back towards the mouth of the alley, on to the street. Across the road, he saw a familiar figure holding onto the wall of a building. "Charlie!" He set off at a run, holding up a hand as on-coming traffic slowed and cars honked at him. "Charlie!"

The man looked up, startled, and started to move more quickly, limping along the sidewalk, his hand still pressed to the building for support. Don called out again. "Charlie!"

Don caught at the man's arm and spun him around. Charlie's eyes were wide, terrified, strangely vacant, his face smudged with dirt. As Don grabbed him, he let out a yelp of pain and tried to pull away, but then Charlie suddenly seemed to realize who had him. He made a desperate, gasping sound, and flung his left arm around Don. "Donny. You came."

"Of course I came," Don said, putting his arm around his brother's waist to support him. "I've got you."

Suddenly, Charlie seemed to go limp, his eyes rolling up and his body sagging at the knees. Don staggered under the unexpected weight, and sank to his knees, half-cradling his brother. David came running up, but Don waved him off. "Get the ambulance here. Hurry!"

Don settled his brother's body a little closer to his own, feeling the smooth rise and fall of breath into his lungs, the rush of blood beneath the fragile cage of skin and bone. He could hear sirens coming closer. Charlie twitched a little at the noise, and he tightened his arms. "I've got you, buddy."  


* * * * * * *

"Dehydrated, abrasions to the soles of his feet, looks like he was walking barefoot for a while." The doctor flipped over a page of Charlie's chart. "The pain he complained of in his arm looks like a severe muscle strain, but we'll need to x-ray to be sure. Bruising looks consistent with him being pulled forcefully from something, or into something. Bruising on his jaw and temple. Looks like someone hit him a couple of times. No concussion or indications of head injury, which is good." She paused for a breath, then continued. "Marks on his wrist suggest that he was bound, struggled against restraints. We've disinfected the wound and bandaged it. The disorientation seems to be the result of some kind of sedative, combined with being low on fluids."

The doctor stopped, and eyed Don over the top of her glasses. "Are you listening to me, young man?"

Don wrenched his gaze away from the window into Charlie's room at the hospital. Charlie looked to be sleeping, a drip connected up to his arm, his other hand clasped in their father's hand.

"Yeah, yeah, sore feet, maybe broken arm, hurt his wrist, bruises, no head injury, sedative." Don stopped. "Do we know what kind of sedative?"

The doctor made a tutting noise and flicked back in her notes. "It's a heavy-duty sleeping pill, sometimes prescribed to people with serious heart conditions."

Don nodded. "Anything else? Can I speak to him now?"

"He's fading in and out at the moment, Agent. It's mostly just exhaustion," the doctor said, "But I would prefer you didn't get him too excited."

Don nodded. "It's important, or I wouldn't ask."

The doctor made another disapproving noise. "It always is with you people. You can go in, but just for fifteen minutes or so."

Don turned back to her and smiled. "Thank you, ma'am."

She was unmoved by his charm. "Hmmph." She began to walk away, but then turned back. "He kept asking for 'Donny' while I was examining him, Agent. Do you know who that is?"

Don smiled at her. "That would be me. I'm his brother."

The doctor snorted, and walked away on squeaky shoes.

He pushed the door open and went in to the hospital room. Coming up behind his father, he put a hand on the older man's shoulder.

"How's he doing, Dad?" Don asked, keeping his voice pitched low.

"Don." His father still looked exhausted, but much less haggard now he had his son back. "He was awake a few minutes ago. He keeps asking for you."

"The doctor said he had. Most of his injuries are superficial, it seems." Don tried to make his tone reassuring. "He'll be fine once we get him home. I'll bet he…"

Don trailed off as Charlie began to stir. "Don?" Charlie's voice was hoarse, "Donny?"

Don sat down on the edge of Charlie's bed. "Yeah, I'm here."

Charlie began to struggle with the sheet. "Help me sit up," he said, shoving at his pillow. Don fumbled with the controls for the bed, helping Charlie shift to a more comfortable position as the head the bed moved. Charlie then turned his attention to the drip in his arm. "Does this have to be here? I don't want it. I want to go home."

Don laid his hand over Charlie's, stopping his fingers from plucking at the IV line. "Leave it in, Charlie. You can go home as soon as the doctor says you'll be okay."

He paused. "Do you think you can tell me what happened?"

Charlie's eyes flicked over to Alan, and he said, suddenly. "I'm really thirsty. Dad, could you find out if I can have a drink, maybe some water?"

Alan stayed seated. "You're not going to send me out of the room, Charlie. I deserve to know what happened."

"I know, Dad, it's just that some of it is… well, it's FBI stuff, and I'm not supposed to tell anyone about it except Don. And I really am thirsty." Charlie looked pleading.

Alan looked for a moment at his two sons, at their identical stubborn expressions. He pointed a finger at Charlie. "Fifteen minutes, and then I'm coming back. I'll call Larry and let him know you're safe."

"Thanks, Dad." Charlie smiled at his father, then winced as the movement pulled at the bruise along his jaw. Alan narrowed his eyes at this evidence of pain, and glared at Don.

"Fifteen minutes," was all he said as he left.

"Talk fast, buddy," said Don, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What the hell happened?"

"I got my consulting fee in the mail from your office Monday morning, for the work I did on the Zuko fraud case and a few other, smaller cases," Charlie began. "And there was something about it that wasn't right. Some of the numbers had been changed in the codes I used, there were case numbers listed that I didn't remember putting on the form."

Don eyed his brother. "That was weeks ago. We're coming up on the trial. How can you possibly remember the case numbers you listed?"

Charlie just raised his eyebrows.

"Well, okay, fine. What does this have to do with…?" Don started, slightly irritated.

"I went to see Kelly, the girl in Finance that I deal with when I bill you."

"Cute little redhead, right?" asked Don, quirking his eyebrows at Charlie.

"Right. Kelly." Charlie carried on without comment. "She and I looked at my payslip, and the time sheets I filled in, and I saw some discrepancies. So she let me look at some of the other sheets, and they all had similar problems." Charlie turned his attention to the bedsheet for a moment, tugging at the hem. "I asked her for copies, and I came down to see you, but you weren't there. I left you a message."

Don frowned in confusion. "Why would you tell me about an accounting mistake?"

"This wasn't a mistake. Looking at it, it was clear to me right away that someone has been skimming off the consultant's payroll." Charlie looked up when Don shifted.

"Skimming? How?" Don asked, flipping open his notebook to take notes.

"Every month I submit a form saying which cases I worked on, and how many hours I worked on each case. When I looked at the copy they sent me along with the check, an extra line had been added with a case code I didn't recognize, but there were no hours listed against it, and no dollar value for that work."

Don nodded. "And the same entry occurs on other forms you looked at?"

"Yes. I looked back through my own copies, and it only appeared once before, right when I started working for the FBI, and it wasn't the same code, although it began with the same two numbers. All of the other forms I checked for other consultants were the same." Charlie gestured vaguely, and grimaced when the IV line shifted in his arm.

"So you figured out someone was skimming, and you told Kelly. You came to see me, and left a note on my desk. Then what? You went back to campus?" Don pressed. The fraud was interesting, but didn't help him find who had abducted Charlie.

Charlie nodded. "Just after I got there, a man called. He said his name was Bob and he was from the FBI. He said he needed to talk to me about what I had found. I guess Kelly talked to someone, though I told her not to." He suddenly clutched at Don's sleeve. "Kelly! I forgot about her! Is she okay? She didn't disappear too?"

Don nodded. "As it happens, I saw her yesterday in the hall. She looked fine. As soon as we're done, I'll call Terry and get her to check, though. So you got a phone call, what then?"

"I said I couldn't come back to the Bureau, because I had a class to teach, and the man said that he was almost at the campus. I went out to meet him outside the building."

"How did you recognize him?" Don asked, watching his brother intently. "Was he someone you'd seen before?"

Charlie shook his head. "No, he called over to me as I came out of the door. He was short, looked sort of like a squirrel. Balding. I went to meet him. He suggested we have a coffee while he looked at the notes I had taken.. We were just walking towards the coffee shop on the quad, when he suddenly poked me in the back, and said he had a gun pointed at me."

Charlie was starting to look distressed, his breathing harsh. "I just… I didn't know what to do. He said I had to be quiet and come with him, or he'd shoot me, and then he'd start shooting other people. Class had just let out, there were students everywhere." Charlie's eyes were wide and dark with remembered fear. Don clamped down on the urge to comfort him, and stayed silent, knowing it would be hard to get Charlie started again if he interrupted. Charlie took a long breath, and carried on.

"We walked through the bushes, and he made me drop my bag, and he walked me out to his car, told me to get in." Charlie rubbed at his injured arm. "I tried to get out at the traffic lights, because he couldn't hold his gun and drive, but he grabbed me, twisted my arm until I let go of the door handle, then he drove away even though the lights weren't even green."

"Where was this?" Don asked, "Do you remember the street?"

"University and Green," Charlie said, "Opposite the dry cleaner."

"What about the car? What colour was it?"

Charlie shifted restlessly. "It was an SUV, I don't know what make. It was big. Green, maybe. Or blue."

"Did you get the door open?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, a little. It swung shut when we went round the corner."

"What then?"

"He drove me downtown, to an apartment he had there. He gave me a big pile of files, and told me I had to find a way to hide what he'd done. I said I wouldn't help him, and he hit me." Charlie fingers trembled when they touched his jaw. "And he said that if I didn't help, he'd go to my house, shoot my family."

Don dropped his notepad, clasped Charlie's hand tightly. Only long experience questioning victims and witnesses helped him to carry on. "Did he stay and watch you?"

Charlie shook his head a little. "No, he left, but he handcuffed me to the desk." Charlie was gasping now, reliving the fear. "When he came back, he cuffed me to the bed, and went and watched TV. I tried to talk to him, to get him to let me go, but he just kept yelling at me to shut up. He made me swallow something, a pill. I woke up and it was morning. The next day was just the same. He would cuff one hand to the desk or the bed, leave me one hand free."

Don nodded. "How did you get away?"

Charlie swallowed hard. "He… he was going crazy, yelling at me that I had to be able to find a way to hide the money he'd stolen. It was about a half a million, I think. He kept pointing the gun at me, going out and coming back in smelling like alcohol. Maybe taking drugs, I don't know. Around eleven o'clock on Wednesday, he passed out right by me, and I got his cell phone. I called you. I called you twice, but you weren't there, and all I got was the answering machine. I didn't dare leave a message, not with him so near." He took a deep shuddering breath. "I put his phone back, and he woke up, he hit me again. I don't think he knew I'd called. He made me take more pills."

Charlie was shivering. Don pulled up the blanket at the bottom of the bed and draped it around his brother. "I woke up really late. The sun was almost setting. He must have gone out, but he'd left the key to the cuffs on the table. I had to reach. I pulled the bed, but my arm hurt. It seemed to take forever, I thought he was going to come in. When I finally got loose, I couldn't find my shoes."

Don tucked the blanket tighter around Charlie's shoulders. "And you ran?"

Charlie nodded. "He wasn't acting… He was acting really strangely. I thought I ought to go while I could. I kept thinking, what would Don do? But I couldn't think. I walked for a long time. All the phones were broken. I didn't know where I was."

Don nodded. "But you called me. And I came and got you. You did exactly what you were supposed to do, Charlie. You did good."

"Yes. You came." Charlie drooped now, exhausted, and Don helped him lie back down, lowering the head of the bed so Charlie could lie down flat. "You'll go get him?"

"Take a nap now. I'm going to send in a sketch artist," Don said, firmly, "I'm going to go find this guy."

Charlie nodded, and closed his eyes obediently. Don strode quickly to the door, and met his father coming in carrying a jug of water. "He's tired," Don said, jerking his chin at Charlie's sleeping form, "Come outside for a minute."

Alan set down the pitcher and followed Don out of the door. "I'm going to send an agent to stand guard," began Don without preamble. Alan opened his mouth, but said nothing when Don scowled at him. "I don't think there's much risk, but whoever this guy is, he made threats against Charlie's family. I'm going to take every possible precaution."

"Do you know who did this?" Alan's fists bunched.

"I have an idea," Don said. "Now you have to leave it to me to go get him. You have to let me handle this."

There was a pause, and then Alan nodded.

"I'm going to send the sketch artist with the agent. I want you to help keep Charlie calm, make sure he fills in all the details he can," Don said. "I'm going after the bastard."

* * * * * * 

Don was already on the phone by the time he reached the entrance to the hospital. "Terry," he said when she picked up her phone, "I need you to get the tape from the traffic cameras on the corner of University and Green. We're looking for a green or blue SUV that stopped there between 2:05 and 2:30pm, the passenger door opening a little way, and then the car jumping the lights."

"Charlie?" Terry asked.

"Yeah, the guy grabbed him and pulled him back in." Don didn't try to keep the fury out of his voice now. "Also, call Kelly. Kelly Scott, I think."

"In accounting?" Terry sounded surprised.

"Yes. Make sure she's all right. Then ask her who she told about Charlie's fraud theory."

"Fraud?" Terry was sounding increasingly bewildered.

"I'll explain when I get there. I'm on my way back in." He paused. "And find out what car Frank Jenkins, the head of finance, drives, will you? See if it's a blue or green SUV."

* * * * * * *

Terry started talking the second Don walked through the door. "The traffic camera caught the whole incident in the car. The camera is opposite the corner where the car stopped, so the view is head on. The image is blurred, but you can just make out Charlie. The second man in the car is hidden by the sun-visor, although you can clearly see him grab Charlie, and then gesture with what looks to be a gun. The license plate of the vehicle is registered to Frank Jenkins."

"Okay. Kelly Scott?" Don threw his jacket over his chair and rolled his sleeves back up.

"She's fine. She said she only told her supervisor about the conversation she had with Charlie, after he told her not to tell anyone else."

"How is telling her supervisor the same as not telling anyone else?" asked Don, exasperated.

"I don't know. I think you can guess who her supervisor is." Terry raised her eyebrows.

"Frank Jenkins."

"Yes. According to security, Frank hasn't been in the office since Tuesday morning. Did he tell Charlie who he was?" Terry asked.

"No, Charlie just said he was short, balding and looked like a squirrel." Don replied, absently, as he pulled up Jenkins' employment record. He showed Terry the picture of Jenkins on file. His prominent teeth were very white against the ruddy skin of his face.

Terry laughed. "And you immediately thought of Jenkins?"

"Yes. His home address is listed, but it's about four miles from where Charlie was found. He said that this guy was going out, drinking, scoring drugs nearby, and passing out wherever he had Charlie stashed."

"Could Charlie have walked that far?" asked Terry, frowning thoughtfully.

Don shook his head. "No, he had no shoes on, and his feet weren't bad enough to suggest he walked that far. Plus, he was disoriented, still half-drugged from whatever this bastard made him take. He probably walked around in circles a lot looking for a phone."

Terry leaned over Don's shoulder to look at Jenkins' file. "He took bereavement leave recently, after his mother died. She lived in LA. Maybe he inherited her property."

Don immediately began a search for Jenkins' mother based on the information in Jenkins' next of kin profile, which had not been updated.

"OK, here we go." He jabbed a finger at the screen. "This is about a mile from where we found Charlie."

The fax machine beeped at Terry's elbow, and she jumped, startled. "It's from the sketch artist," she said, holding up the picture as it came through. They looked from the artists sketch to the photo of Jenkins in his employee photo still on the screen.

"Oh yeah, we have enough." Don said, grabbing his jacket again and checking his gun. "Let's go. We'll call for a warrant from the car."

* * * * * * *

Twenty minutes later, he and Terry were banging on the apartment door in a run-down building near where they found Charlie.

"Open up! FBI warrant!" yelled Don as he pounded on the door. There was no answer. He exchanged looks with Terry, and then turned to kick the door in. They entered cautiously, their guns at the ready.

Staggering to his feet off the bed, his clothes rumpled and stained, was Jenkins. "Freeze!" yelled Terry, her gun pointed steadily at his head. "Drop your weapon."

Frank looked down at his hand in confusion, as if noticing for the first time that he held a gun. His hand wavering, he began to lift the weapon. "I said freeze!" Terry shouted again.

In an instant, Jenkins' gun reached its destination – his own forehead – and he pulled the trigger before Don had enough time other to than to say "No, don't..!"

The gun clicked, and nothing happened, the chamber empty. Don had reached him and forced the gun out of Jenkins' hand before he had a chance to try again. Jenkins was cuffed in a matter of seconds, his eyes spilling over with tears as Terry read him his rights. Don slid the clip out of the gun.

"Empty," he said, disgusted. Terry rolled her eyes, and shoved her prisoner ahead of her as he continued to wail and sob.

Don stayed for a moment, looking around the squalid room where Charlie had been kept, seeing the open bottle of pills spilled onto the desk, over a sheaf of papers written on in Charlie's hand. He curled his lip, and slammed the door shut as he hurried to catch up to Terry.

Outside, the store windows shone with red and blue flashing lights, as the police arrived to take control of the scene. Don handed over Jenkins' gun, and set about the task of giving his report, helping to secure and record the scene, and then returning to the office to start on his paperwork. He sat down at his desk and gazed blankly at the form he had to fill in.

"Go home, Don. You look ready to drop." Terry said, wearily, leaning against his desk. "I'll fill out the preliminary report. Yours can wait until tomorrow. David called a few hours ago to say that the hospital released your brother, and your dad's taken him home."

Don smiled at her gratefully. Dawn was breaking as he drove his car out of the parking garage, and turned it towards home.

* * * * * * *

  


  


**EPILOGUE**

When Don was nine years old, he ran away from home. His father had promised that they would all go to Disneyland the first weekend after school finished for the summer. Don had grown a lot lately, and he was sure that this year, he'd be tall enough to go on all the cool rides. He teased his brother non-stop about the fact that Charlie wouldn't be big enough to go on any of the roller coasters, only the stupid flying elephant ride. His brother cried until Don promised to go on at least one baby ride with him.

Two days before the planned trip, though, Don's mother told him that they couldn't go on Saturday after all. She and Charlie had to go to some school so Charlie could be tested. She promised that they would go the following weekend. Don was so mad, he kicked over the garbage can, and yelled at his mom that it wouldn't be the _same,_ that Charlie spoiled all his fun, that Charlie was a _freak _and he _hated_ him. He ran to his room before he could be sent there. Charlie was playing quietly with _Don's_ Legos on _Don's_ bedroom floor, so Don grabbed him and shoved him hard out of the room, ignoring his brother's startled wailing. He didn't speak to Charlie for two days, not even after his mother yelled at him, not even when Charlie's scared, unhappy face when Don wouldn't play with him made him feel a little sick. Don just thought about not going to Disneyland, and that was enough to keep him mad.

Then, he had a terrible, wonderful idea. If his mom and dad wouldn't take him, he'd go to Disneyland by himself. He emptied out his piggy bank, and stole some crackers and peanut butter from the kitchen. On Saturday morning, after his mom and Charlie left and while his dad was in the shower, he let himself out of the house and set off on foot for Disneyland.

He came back fifteen hours later in the arms of Officer Ramirez of the LAPD. Officer Ramirez had a little boy Don's age called Ricardo, and a bag of peppermints in his desk. He'd let Don ride in his police car, and told him what the messages on his police radio meant. Don had decided that if he wasn't a baseball player, or an astronaut, maybe he'd be a cop when he grew up. He was mostly asleep when he got back home, and had only fuzzy memories of his mom crying when she opened the door to see him with the policeman, of being hustled up to bed and stuffed into his Batman pyjamas. He woke up once in the night, to see his parents standing in his doorway, his mother still crying, asking his father what they should do. He couldn't stay awake long enough to find out the answer. When he woke up again, it was morning, and Charlie was sitting on the floor next to his bed, playing with Don's Legos, while his father snored in the chair in the corner of Don's room.

His father still snored and sleeping in a chair still looked uncomfortable, Don thought, looking at the awkward looking position of his father's neck as he slept. His dad would pay for a night spent watching over his youngest son. Don stood in the doorway of Charlie's room. He brother was curled up small, his torso half-bared by the drooping sheet, his injured arm tucked protectively over his body, the bandages at his wrists startlingly white against his skin. There were dark bruises on Charlie's arms, and one on his jaw, and he looked tired and pale, but Don didn't care. The important thing was that Charlie was here, in his own bed, safe.

As he watched, Charlie opened his eyes sleepily, and smiled at Don. "What a racket," he whispered, nodding at their father. Don crossed the room and sat down on the corner of Charlie's bed. "It's a wonder Mom ever got any sleep."

Don laughed, and their father woke up suddenly with a snort at the sound.

"Did you get him?" Charlie asked, as Alan muttered and rubbed at his eyes.

"Yeah," Don said, smiling at him. "We got him."

Charlie smiled back, and laid his head back down on the pillow.

"I think this calls for pancakes," their father said, standing and stretching the kinks out of his back. "Do you boys want some?"

"Pancakes!" they chorused, and Alan laughed and went to make breakfast.

* * * * * 

Ten days later Don let himself out of the back door of the house when he couldn't find anyone inside. "Anyone home?" he called.

His dad waved at him from over by the garage. He was raking up leaves on the lawn. The garage door was open, and Don could see Charlie in the dim recesses of the space, writing furiously on a chalkboard.

"Hi Charlie!" he called, receiving only an absent wave in reply.

"He's working on something to do with black holes for Larry." Alan said, smiling at Don as he walked over. "He was trying to tell me about it at lunch, but I didn't understand a word. Here, hold this bag open for me." He held out a bag to Don, who obediently held it open while his dad filled it with leaves.

"He's okay?" he asked Alan, quietly, nodding to Charlie.

"He's fine. His two weeks of leave from the university while he recovers are almost up." Alan glanced over at his younger son. "He hasn't really left the house since we left the hospital, though."

Don nodded. "I'll talk to him."

Alan leaned his rake against the garage wall. "You want to stay for dinner? It's rib-eye."

"Of course." Don grinned at his father. "I'll come in and help in a minute."

"It's okay, stay here and talk to your brother." Alan took the bag from Don as well, dropping it by the side of the house before going in the back door.

"Hey, Charlie," said Don, walking into the garage and dropping into the overstuffed wicker chair Charlie kept there. Charlie muttered something and carried on writing. "What are you up to?"

Charlie turned and blinked at Don. "You really want to know?"

Don laughed. "No, probably not."

Charlie half-smiled, and went back to his chalkboard, writing out a long equation full of letters and symbols Don didn't even recognize.

"Dad says you haven't been going out." Don said, his voice deliberately casual. "I know I haven't seen you at the office."

Charlie's writing faltered and stopped. "No," he said, not turning around. "I kind of just wanted to be home for a while, you know?"

Don didn't say anything for a minute, and Charlie started to write again. "You'll come back in to the Bureau soon though, won't you?" Don asked after a moment of silence broken only by the tap and scrape of chalk.

Charlie said nothing, but Don saw him twitch, and his free hand, the one not holding the chalk, rose and touched his jaw where the bruise had been. "Terry wants to see you." Don added, "She said you should call her and say hi, or if you want to talk."

Charlie addressed the blackboard again. "She can come here to see me."

Don stood up, and moved to stand next to his brother, touching Charlie's shoulder gently. "He was stealing. He had a gambling habit. He tried to use our genius math consultant to steal even more, and you stopped him. That's all. No one thinks badly of you for it." He lightened his tone. "And I think the chances of you being abducted by another deranged accountant are pretty small."

Charlie looked up at that. When he spoke, his voice was squeaky and hoarse, the way it got when he was upset about something. "I know. Statistically, highly improbable. I just... I just want to be at home a little while longer."

"But you will come in soon?" Don asked, insistently. "We have a case that I'd like your help on. I think you'll find it interesting."

Charlie's face cleared, and he smiled properly for the first time since Don arrived. "Oh. Well. I could maybe come in."

"Well, let me know when you're coming." Don said. "I'll make sure I'm there."

Charlie nodded. Don went to sit back down, and watched his brother write for a few minutes longer. The back door banged closed, and Alan walked over to the garage, carrying sodas for him and Charlie, and a beer, which he handed to Don. "Steaks are on."

Charlie took his soda with a word of thanks, and stood back to look at his equations.

"So, Charlie," said Don said suddenly, winking at their father, "Speaking of things that are statistically highly improbable, what's this about you having a _groupie_ a few years ago?"

Charlie spluttered, spitting out a mouthful of his soda. "What? How… ?" he choked out, inarticulately.

Don and Alan started laughing, and Charlie wiped indignantly at his mouth and the front of his shirt, and began to complain about having no privacy.

**THE END**


End file.
